


The Garden

by Tales of Josan archivist (nocturnus)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bonding, Depression, Friendship, Gardening, Gen, Male Friendship, Post War, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnus/pseuds/Tales%20of%20Josan%20archivist
Summary: Severus Snape decides to try his hand at gardening.





	The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally archived by Josan at Tales_of_Josan blog at Live Journal. She hasn’t updated since 2008. As you might know, Lj administration reserve the right to delete inactive blogs. I am merely putting her fics onto AO3 so that they are safe from any issues on LJ.  
> I'm doing this for the purpose of preserving her fics.

Title: THE GARDEN  
Author: Josan  
Recipient: Biscuit Belleville aka sibility, for the 2006 reversathon.  
Date: July 18, 2006  
Pairing: Snape/Hagrid  
Rating: G  
Warnings: Gen (Sorry, but they refused to co-operate. On the other hand, my beta prefers to think of it as pre-slash.)  
Beta: sylvadin, who kindly translated my English into Hagridese for me.  
Request: Snape, against his will, needs to start a garden and turns out to be absolutely pants with plants. Things go (humourously wrong); Hagrid comes to the rescue.  
A.N.: Well, that's what was requested. Didn't quite work out that way.  
Disclaimer: These characters are the possession of JKR and Warner. Let us remember that sharing is a good thing.

 

SSssSS

 

It was the slope of the land between his hut and the Forbidden Forest that gave him the idea. One morning, as he sat on the stoop with his cup of tea, the light of the rising sun caught it in such a way that he suddenly remembered the garden of his Muggle gran. Of the times when she'd cared for him as a young child and had sent him out to her garden to dig up some potatoes for their tea.

The pleasure he'd had, digging in the soil with his hands, the sense of success when his fingertips had touched the round smoothness of his treasure-find, the fact that gran hadn't yelled or screamed at him for getting dirty...

She'd died when he was five and now he wondered if his life would have been different had she lived longer. He didn't seem to remember any of the screaming fights between his parents before then.

He shook his head to rid it of those thoughts. What was done was done, to quote Minerva McGonagall.

So without really knowing what he was doing, he decided to make himself a garden.

Well, it wasn't as though he had anything else to do.

The Wizengamot would have preferred to banish him to Azkaban, but Headmistress McGonagall's presenting them with Albus Dumbledore's Penseive had deterred them from that plan. Not to mention the fact that she had admitted to them that she'd taken over from the Headmaster as his contact for all the time he'd been with Voldemort until the Dark Lord's demise. She'd taken a wee bit too much delight in pointing out to them that, while the Wizengamot had sat on its combined arses until the day of the Battle itself, he had been actually doing something productive about the situation.

They hadn't really known what to do with him. They had just known that they wanted him punished in some way for the deeds he'd done for his time with Voldemort.

Angry that their prey had been denied them, they had decided to punish both of them, he and Minerva – for her coming to his aid – by exiling him to Hogwarts. He was denied the ability to teach – as though that was some great penalty! – but also that of his wand. He was to be denied the freedom of the Castle unless accompanied by someone ready to stand surety for him, and never while there were students around. If he wanted to leave the grounds, he would need permission from not only Minerva, but also from the Head of Aurors, who would specify where and when he could go. He needed Minerva's co-signature on any withdrawal he cared to make from his Gringotts' account.

He was to be denied access to the Hogwarts Library and to any magical tome.

Basically, Azkaban without the bad food, without the cramped quarters. Without the potential of torture.

Still, at the time, he'd been relieved at the sentence. He'd been physically and psychologically exhausted from the demands of those months leading to the Battle, and from the small injuries he'd received at the Battle itself. All he'd wanted was a safe place to heal and to sleep.

The hut that was now his home was similar to the one Rubeus Hagrid still lived in, but on the other side of the Castle grounds. One room with 'the facilities' in a small addition that had been built when it had been determined – from the fixtures, mere decades earlier – that indoor plumbing was not a passing fad.

Minerva had sent his bed and any other items of furniture that she'd thought he might need from the rooms that had once been his in the Dungeons. She'd also sent him his clothes, but had not included his teaching robes. It had hurt more than a little that none of his magical books would ever find their way down, though the delivery of those few Muggle tomes he'd hidden among the others did ease that ache just a bit.

All he'd pretty much done through the late fall and winter had been to sleep. In fact, had Hagrid not taken it upon himself to see to it that he ate, washed, and took a daily walk, he'd never have bothered to get himself out of bed.

Rubeus Hagrid was a hard man to ignore. Though, on those days when all he'd truly wanted was to hide from the world under the bedclothes, Hagrid would leave him to his brooding. There'd been a time limit, however, and two days wallowing in self-pity was the most Hagrid had allowed him before settling himself in the large chair that somehow had appeared in an unused corner of the hut. He'd talk then, his drooling boarhound at his feet, about the animals, the Forbidden Forest, the Centaurs, until Snape gave up, tossed the bedclothes off and went stomping off to the shower.

But now it was spring; those dark days appeared less and less, and he was finally becoming aware of time. And of a sense of restlessness. He needed something to do. And sitting there on his stoop, in the early morning, in his shirt-sleeves, the notion of a garden seemed to be a good way of dealing with both time and restlessness.

How to begin?

He stood, hands on hips, and glared at the space, trying to see it as a garden.

Not too big. His gran's had been huge. Well, to the eyes of the child he'd been, it had been massive; though now, thinking about it, it couldn't have been. Still, to start, he wanted something manageable.

And though the slope was gentle, he needed to remember that water ran down, not up.

What else did he remember?

Oh, yes, pathways between the lines of greenery.

And something about the sun. And birds. He remembered silver flashing among the berry bushes at the back of gran's garden. And the time she'd allowed him to stuff straw inside an old jacket for the scarecrow. Not that it had seemed to be very effective, as he also remembered running shouting into the garden at her behest, to scatter the birds that were more interested in seeing how ripe her fruit crop was.

He cocked his head and wondered how he could have forgot those joyful moments in his life.

He began by pacing off what he thought he could handle as his first garden – not even aware that he was thinking of it as his 'first'. Should it be five paces by ten? Maybe six by twelve?

And, bloody hell, what should he be growing?

"Yeh're up early, Sev'rus."

He turned and looked at the huge man who had tended to him gently over the last months.

"I'm thinking about a garden," he admitted with a certain reticence.

Hagrid grinned. "Ah, tha's a fine thing ter be thinkin' abou'. The right time of year as well. What kind are yeh thinkin' of?"

Snape made a pretense of pondering the question. "I want a garden like my gran's," he announced.

And, though Hagrid had never met his gran, had never seen her garden, he nodded his head approvingly.

Hagrid showed him how to mark out the ground with several sticks and a ball of cord. He agreed that small was a good way to begin, but not so small that he couldn't grow a variety of items.

Then Hagrid stood surety for him and took him to the storage rooms of the Castle. Rooms that had gathered the remnants of generations as far back as the Founders.

Or so it seemed.

"I know I saw some..."

Snape ignored Hagrid's rumblings as he passed a corner filled with crossbows and longbows, long arrows in quivers that were covered with the dust of centuries. So the slitted openings in the lower castle walls had actually once had a purpose.

"Ah, here they are! Sev'rus!"

The tools were not new. In fact, several of the shafts were broken, but Hagrid had no trouble dealing with that. Between repairs, he showed Snape how to sand the rust off the implements, how to sharpen them.

Snape worried that the man would offer to help him with preparing the ground for his garden, but Hagrid only demonstrated the proper way of removing the grass, of softening up and loosening the soil and then left him to it.

It was hard work. And his muscles weren't used to that kind of physical labour. He overdid it the first day and regretted it by the time he dropped into bed. He truly regretted it the next morning when his body refused to move. The needs of his bladder finally overcame the pain of forcing muscles that seemed to have forgotten how to give.

Hagrid poked his head around the door of the hut after knocking. "Ah, thought so."

Snape had made it back as far as the table, and lay partially on it, moaning softly to himself.

Hagrid ducked into the hut and placed a pot of ointment on the table next to Snape. Without asking, he slipped the nightshirt off the man and began massaging the sticky goo into tight, abused muscles.

Snape's moans moved from protests of pain gradually to sounds of relief and then approval. To the accompaniment of Hagrid's snickers and chuckles.

"Not all in a day, Severus. Gardens take time."

Even so, it was a full week before Snape could get up without moaning and groaning.

He began to wonder if Hagrid hadn't recommended too large a space. They'd gone with eight of Snape's paces by twenty. Wasn't as though he wanted to feed the entire population of the Castle. But Hagrid had pointed out that the space was less than one of Sprout's...er, Longbottom's green houses.

Sprout, Hagrid had informed him one tearful night that winter, over tea laced with something that had come out of a bottle that had once held Ogden's Firewhiskey, hadn't made it back from the Battle. Neville Longbottom had taken over care of the greenhouses and Minerva had hired him to teach Herbology to the First and Second Years. Not that Snape had shown that he'd cared, about either Sprout or Longbottom. At that time, he'd barely been aware of one day over another.

At the end of that first week, he'd removed the grass and dug up the soil, breaking it up into Hagrid-approved lumps. Hagrid was an exacting taskmaster; he made Snape go over the garden three times before he was satisfied that the 'wee roots' would be able to make their way without choking.

At that point, Snape thought it was time to begin planting the garden itself. The smell the next morning that wafted in through the open window to offer insult to his nose quickly put him off that notion.

"What the hell..."

There, at the far end of the torn-up area, was a stack of...

"Fertiliser. Bin stewin' all winter." Hagrid added another wheelbarrow heaped with the stuff to the already steaming pile. "Mainly hippogriff manure mixed in with some thestral an' a little unicorn."

"What? No blast-ended skrewt?"

Hagrid looked at him as though he were a First Year asking a really dumb question. He explained gently, something Snape had never done. "Of course not, Sev'rus. Too explosive. Would ignite the whole pile. An' it would burn the roots of any plant."

"Yes," Snape mumbled, "of course."

"This is from my own manure pile," Hagrid went on, using a rake of some kind to drag the last of the stuff out of the barrow. "Bin properly aged."

Snape tried. "Then I shouldn't take it from you."

Hagrid shook his head. "I've got plenty. Besides, I don' need as much as you do. My garden's bin properly nourished all these years. Yers is brand new."

"Surely all the work I've done..."

"Good work, too, Sev'rus. But all that earth's done since the Forest was cleared is grow grass. It's goin' ter grow somethin' else now an' it needs ter have all the nutrients necessary ter do its best. Yeh jus' work this pile in well inter the earth an' yeh'll see."

With a disgustingly cheery wave, Hagrid left him.

Snape tried to remember if gran's back garden had ever held a pile of anything that stank to high heaven. He sighed and went back in to dress in his oldest clothes and boots, that he knew he would have to burn by the time that pile had disappeared.

The problem with a potion-trained nose was that it was very sensitive. He finally had to cover his nose and mouth with several layers of handkerchieves to get the job done. During the two days it took, he found he could barely stomach food, and eventually grabbed a pillow and a couple of blankets to go sleep upwind of the mess.

Of course, Hagrid showed up only as he was working the last of it into the soil. He knelt on one knee, dug his hand into the earth, rubbed it between his palm and thick fingers then nodded. "Well done, Sev'rus."

And though Snape didn't want to acknowledge it, not even to himself, Hagrid's approval warmed him. True to his nature, he only raised an eyebrow and nodded back in turn.

"Now can I begin planting?"

Hagrid shook his head as he rose to his feet. "Best leave it sit fer a few days." He sniffed the air. "Besides, there'll be rain for the next day or so. A good soak. It'll help the earth more than anythin' else now. An' it'll get rid o' the smell tha's still around."

Snape took a sniff himself, not surprised that he couldn't smell anything. He was certain that the membranes of his nose and sinuses were dead.

Once more Hagrid proved to be right. The rain came down in torrents, which helped dissipate the odour of the fertiliser. All he could do was watch from his window as the earth did its best to absorb the puddles and small lakes forming from the water pouring down.

Until there was a knock at his door. And the door didn't open.

Hagrid always knocked but, over the winter, had got into the habit of opening after a moment as Snape had usually still been in bed.

So, whoever it was, it wasn't Hagrid who was knocking for a second time.

He went to the door and called out, "Who is it?"

"It's I, Minerva. Do hurry up, Severus, my arms are full."

They were.

With a large, book-filled carpetbag.

Minerva McGonagall entered his hut for the first time since she'd brought him here, and staggered over to the table where she dropped the bag of books onto its surface with a relieved "Whoof!"

She removed her hat and shook it out the still open door.

"Well?" she said, in that tone which had always made him wonder what he'd done wrong, yet again.

She shook her head, slightly put out. "Tea, Severus?"

Oh. Yes. Of course. Tea. She intended to stay a while. So what had he done wrong this time?

He closed the door and went over to the large wood stove where the ubiquitous kettle was lightly steaming. Once, it would have been the matter of merely taking out his wand to have it boiling, but now he pulled it over to the hob, opened the firebox and added several thick sticks to the embers.

"It'll be a few minutes."

Minerva had taken that time to spell herself dry. He found he appreciated her tact and so went to the cupboard which the house elves kept supplied and pulled out a tin of biscuits. He wasn't surprised to find that Minerva's favourite chocolate digestives layered the oatmeal raisin he himself favoured.

It was a matter of a few minutes for him to locate two decent cups and saucers – he usually drank his tea out of a mug, but the presence of a visitor, especially one bearing books, demanded what his gran would have called 'the best china' – and plates. Napkins were a little harder, but some house elf had thought about that and he found two fine linen ones on the counter next to his canister of tea. As well as a canister of Minerva's favourite tea.

She'd taken the time to look over his residence. "You're feeling better," she said, finally sitting down at one of the two chairs he had at the table. "Looking better as well. You've more colour in your complexion and the circles around your eyes are finally gone."

"Your spies..."

"No spies, Severus. No one is reporting to me. I swear."

He looked up from pouring the water into the teapot. "Hagrid."

She shook her head. "He informed me before you arrived that unless I was specifically ordering him to do so, he would not act as my eyes and ears. That you deserved better than that. I agreed with him. No, whatever I have heard about you has come from casual sources and what I've seen with my very own eyes."

"Casual sources?" He placed the teapot on the table.

She nodded. "All the students and the staff know of the conditions of your release. It has come to be a challenge among the First Years to see what you're up to."

Snape took some milk from the cold box and poured it into the creamer he'd found next to the napkins. "I don't remember seeing footsteps in the snow."

Minerva chuckled. "So far none of them has been brave enough to come further than the edge of the Castle."

"And the older ones?"

"I have warned them that anyone who dares interfere with your peace will have to deal with me. That I have set up wards that will inform me of the fact."

He set the matching sugar bowl, also found on the counter, next to the creamer. He knew she was watching his face as he determined the best spot for it. "So I am warded as well as exiled from Wizard company."

She snorted. "Don't be silly, Severus. I have set up a few wards but they are protective rather than restrictive. They let me know who is approaching from the Castle, not the other way around. I argued to bring you here because I knew the last thing you needed was to be confined to Spinner's End."

Snape shivered at the thought.

"More room here, and besides, more things for you to do than wallow in depression."

He sat down and offered her the plate of biscuits. She took two of the digestives.

"And I was right." Her expression dared him to protest.

He shrugged and took three of the oatmeal. He was always hungry these days. He ignored her smirk of pleasure.

"The books?"

She played mother and poured the tea for both of them.

"I've been watching you from one of the towers."

She ignored his glare for a sip of tea.

"Have you decided yet what you're planting?"

"I'm certain that you know more about that than I," he grumbled.

She reached into the bag and pulled out several soft-covered manuals. "I thought that Muggle catalogues might be best," she said, pushing them over to his side of the table. "I had MacLean-Philby, one of our Muggle-borns, order them for me. They've just arrived. His mother, it seems, is garden mad. The other books are ones that she maintains are necessary for a good garden library."

"I was thinking potatoes and that kind of thing," Snape said, eyeing the books that Minerva was pulling out with almost trepidation.

"I've had a look at some of these. The pictures don't move but there are some glorious colours." She pushed over one with the word Flowers emblazoned on the cover.

Flowers? What the hell did he want with flowers? He flicked through the book and found himself drawn by the range of colours. And by the kinds of gardens – all of a colour, others mixed – that seemed to be available to Muggles.

He squinted as he tried to remember if gran had had... Not in the back garden, but he suddenly remembered her front one. Colour rising around the front door... Roses? And patches of yellow and of reds by the door. What could they have been?

"And then there are the vegetables and fruits."

Minerva pushed the flower book out of the way with several that were as colourful in their own way.

Snape moved his plate and saucer to one side and began scanning pages.

"Seems you can order all of them from the catalogues." She moved the small pile towards him.

He looked up. "And how are they to get here?"

Minerva's smile was rather self-satisfied. "Not a problem. MacLean-Philby's mother has volunteered to receive and send on any order you care to place."

"And payment?"

Minerva raised that eyebrow of hers at him. "The exchange rate is rather good these days. I've taken the liberty of arranging the opening of a Muggle account with your last year's salary. You don't need my signature for one of those." She dug into her pocket and pulled out a thin book of cheques.

Snape looked chary. "The Wizen..."

She effectively blocked off any objection of his with a blunt, "Shut up, Severus, and pass me the plate of biscuits."

Hagrid was intrigued by the possibility of choices from the Muggle catalogues, that looked so very small in his large hands.

"I never knew that they could grow half these things. Though why yeh'd want purple broccoli or orange cauliflower..."

So instead of a garden of potatoes and carrots, Snape, with Hagrid's help, planned one with a variety of what Hagrid declared to be easy-to-grow items. "But whatever yeh grow has got ter be somethin' that yeh like, Sev'rus. Otherwise why grow 'em?"

So there was a section for potatoes, another for tomatoes, carrots, onions. Snape wasn't keen on lettuces and couldn't bear the thought of cabbage, but had good memories of snapping off small cucumbers from their vines and eating them with a sprinkle of salt. Hagrid had him add courgettes, warning him that he'd only want a few as they were great producers.

In another section, Snape decided to try strawberries, even if the books and Hagrid informed him it would take at least two years for a decent harvest. Once he might not have planned that far in advance – he hadn't really expected to be alive at the End of It All – but now the thought of eating strawberries from his own garden appealed enough for him to overcome his wariness. But not enough to add raspberry canes to the order. He'd see...maybe next year.

He included several flowers to the order. Flowers that would serve no purpose other than that of colour. Vibrant reds, oranges and yellows. A variety of purples. And though he couldn't make his precious potions any more, nothing in the Wizengamot's sentence prevented him from making potions Muggle-style – there'd been a book on folk medicines at the bottom of Minerva's bag. Without saying anything to Hagrid, he portioned off a part of the garden for herbs that looked as though they were for cooking purposes but which could be used for others as well.

Hagrid surprised him with his seeding potatoes. "Yeh jus' cut 'em up so tha' there's enough eyes fer roots an' plant 'em in those little mounds yeh've prepared fer 'em."

Snape looked at the cut-up pieces, wondering if Hagrid was having him on. With a shrug, he did as he was told.

And discovered the sensation of cool, loose, fertile earth against his hands.

He sat back on his heels and looked at the handful he held, slowly rubbing it with his thumb, letting it slide through his fingers. He dug his hands in again and felt an overwhelming sense of pride that he – his work, his sweat, even his blisters – was responsible for the transformation of dense, dry earth into this silky coolness ready to be seeded.

After a few days, he gently unearthed one of the mounds to find that indeed there were sprouts growing from those eyes. With a sense of wonder, he re-covered what was to be the root system of his produce.

His next surprise came with the arrival of his order. He'd expected the MacLean-Philby owl to arrive laden down with boxes requiring several deliveries. Instead, what arrived was a parcel, about six inches square.

"Well, what did yeh expect?" chuckled Hagrid. "Fer 'em ter arrive fully grown?"

Well...yes, he had. Looking somewhat like the pictures in the catalogues. Not these little packs containing specks of varying sizes and colours.

Funny how he'd never really thought of where Sprout's plants had come from. They had just been there. Whenever he'd needed something fresh for his potions, he'd sent a note to her office and, lo and behold, a basket would appear at his workroom door, bearing what he'd requested.

And he certainly didn't remember his gran's garden with anything less than partially grown plants.

"Read the instructions carefully," counselled Hagrid. "Those Muggles have more experience with their products than I do."

Snape read the instructions with great care. He had never known that one of the implements necessary for Muggle gardening was a ruler. Mind, it made sense. How else was one to plant a seed a quarter of an inch deep and six inches apart? The aparts were easier to manage than the deeps, but if that's what was required...

For a week after, he sat on his stoop and watched to see if there was anything happening in his garden. The books said that it could take some time, but really, surely after several days, there should be something to see?  
Hagrid found him one morning, elbows propped up on his knees, supporting his chin.

He took one look at Snape, another at the garden, and Snape knew Hagrid's hand was hiding a smile. "How many times have yeh dug up to see if the seeds are growin'?"

Snape tried to pretend he had no idea what Hagrid was talking about.

Hagrid came to sit by him. "Yeh can't keep doin' that, Sev'rus. They need time ter get used to the ground, ter soften an' ter react ter the nutrients. An' we're startin' this garden a little late so the amount o' light an' heat is a little diff'rent than wha' they need."

Snape sighed. "In other words, you're telling me that this is all for nothing?"

Hagrid shook his head. "I'm jus' tellin' yeh, yeh have ter be patient. An' ter leave the seedlings alone."

Hagrid dragged him off to feed the thestrals. Who were most pleased to see him. Snape had been a frequent visitor to their stables over the winter. Hagrid always commented on the fact that they allowed Snape to groom them while rarely allowing anyone else from the Castle even to approach them. Snape had found it very soothing to comb their manes and tails, to groom them when he'd barely been able to function. Now he found that they soothed his impatience with his garden.

So it was a bit of a wonder when, one morning, he realised that there were these little, thin, spiderleg-like things coming out of the soil he'd so carefully prepared.

He crouched by the side of the garden and looked at the greenery that proved Hagrid and the books had not been taking advantage of him.

"No pullin' anythin' out until yeh can identify the weeds from the plants," Hagrid advised as he joined Snape in his admiration of his garden.

So Snape sat on his hands – literally at times – to keep from dealing with the audaciousness of any weed daring to invade his garden.

Meanwhile there were tomato stakes to prepare, some for the beans that Hagrid had suggested he plant. Snape hadn't been that keen on the beans, but when the first tendril appeared and he carefully suggested, with the tip of his little finger, that it cling to the stake – and it did! – he felt he had accomplished a major milestone.

Every so often, Minerva joined him for a cup of tea and some biscuits. He figured she was just being very polite with putting up with his enthusiasm but, really, he needed someone with whom to share the discoveries he'd made in his reading. About soil content and temperature and...

Hagrid knew all of this intuitively and only shook his head, smiling outright, whenever Snape would mention something he'd read.

His garden was beginning to look like a real garden, with greenery that one could distinguish, when Snape was reminded that there were some who felt he'd been let off too easily.

He was sitting on his stoop – now his favourite outdoor seat – reading one of the books Mrs MacLean-Philby had recently sent on the propagation of berry canes when Snape heard a small, angry gasp. He looked up to find Neville Longbottom staring angrily at his garden.

Before he could do more than put the book aside, Longbottom drew his wand and screamed "Turbo!"

The whirlwind that suddenly appeared went through his garden in the blink of an eye. It uprooted everything in its path.

"Mister Longbottom!"

Snape could hear Minerva's high-pitched shriek of outrage and warning coming from beyond the edge of the Castle. Her wards must still be up and had warned her of his visitor.

Too bad. She'd get here too late.

He stood and stretched out his hand towards Longbottom.

Who went slamming against the stone wall of the Castle, hanging some fifteen feet up its face.

"Sev'rus!"

Hagrid was panting from his rush to get here. He must have seen Longbottom but from a distance.

Snape was barely aware of his arrival, no more than that of Minerva's.

Longbottom was whiter than Snape had ever seen him. He was trying to wriggle out of whatever was holding him to the Castle wall but Snape's anger held him firmly in place.

"Severus."

Minerva slowly walked up to him.

"Severus. Dear. Let the boy down."

It wasn't all that hard for Snape to pretend he didn't hear her. The roar of his anger was loud in his ears.

"Sev'rus." Hagrid placed a brave hand on Snape's shoulder. "It's all right. We can fix the garden."

The warmth of Hagrid's hand finally got to him. Snape glanced up and saw Hagrid's face, concerned as it had been all those mornings he'd nudged and persuaded Severus out of bed.

Hagrid gestured with his head towards the wall. "Let Neville go, Sev'rus. We can fix the garden. I swear it.

Minerva came to stand next to him. "You've made your point, Severus. The boy is scared enough. Let him down."

Snape took a deep breath, let it out and slowly released his anger.

Longbottom slid to the ground.

"You fucking bastard!" he sputtered.

"Mister Longbottom!" Minerva pulled her wand out and pointed it at the young man.

Longbottom made it to his feet using the wall as a support. "He's not allowed Magic!" he screamed.

"His wand, Mister Longbottom," Minerva corrected. "And he used no wand."

Snape shook his head. "Really, Mister Longbottom. I didn't survive all those years with Voldemort depending on a wand."

"The Wizengamot will hear of this!"

Minerva shook her head. "No, they will not. Not if you intend keeping your position here at Hogwarts. Not if you intend to continue the work Professor Sprout began."

Longbottom glared at her, incredulous. "You'd do that?"

"Yes, I would. You have disobeyed my instructions, Mister Longbottom. I ordered my staff to avoid this part of Hogwarts grounds. You had no right coming here. All Severus did was protect himself from possible attack. You yourself have suffered no harm."

"You'd protect a bloody Death Eater? The bastard," Longbottom spat out the word, "who's probably responsible for Professor Sprout's death? You saw her body! You know what they did to her before she died!"

"Severus Snape was not responsible for her death."

"How the hell do you know that? Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to." Minerva sounded exasperated. "Use your brain, Mister Longbottom. Would I have allowed him near Hogwarts had I thought that? You seem to forget that he fought on our side in the Battle."

Longbottom found enough saliva to spit at that.

Hagrid moved so that he could pick up Longbottom's wand. He positioned himself to protect Snape with his body should it be necessary.

Snape closed his eyes. "Mister Longbottom, I did not kill Professor Sprout. I know that no matter what I say, no matter what proofs I could lay before you, you will not believe me."

"I will never believe a piece of shit like you. You always were a treacherous bastard and you will always be one. You were an arsehole of a teacher. You treated me like dirt and you deserve to be treated the same."

Snape nodded. "Agreed. I did treat you like dirt. I knew what was coming and I didn't think that anyone without the proper magical skills, without the proper backbone would be able to survive. If all I did for you was teach you to hate, well, at least that hate gave you the proper grounding to come out of the Battle alive."

Minerva looked shocked but remained silent. Snape turned his back and slowly walked back to the stairs. On the last step, he stopped and spoke over his shoulder.

"One warning, Mister Longbottom. You've had your revenge. Don't go for a second attempt because I promise you Azkaban holds no fears for me. Not after Voldemort. The next time you attack me in any way, shape or form, I will break you."

He closed the hut's door behind him.

He sat down on the edge of his bed and waited for the Aurors to appear to drag him off.

No one came.

It was hours later when the door did open and Minerva slipped inside.

She said nothing but came to sit by him. Finally, she took his hand in hers and spent several minutes examining it.

"Have you always known you didn't need a wand?"

Severus looked up at the far wall. "Yes. I need to be highly emotional but, yes, I don't always need a wand to direct my Magic."

"Did Albus know?"

He turned to face her. "What do you think?"

She nodded.

"Voldemort?"

He shook his head. "Other than Albus, his vanity didn't allow him to imagine anyone else as powerful as he."

"Would I be far off to say that you are as powerful a wizard as Albus was in his prime?"

He shrugged. "I didn't know Albus in his prime. That was before I was born."

Minerva sighed. "I've had a long talk with Mister Longbottom. He finally agreed to pretend this afternoon never happened."

Snape forbore mentioning his garden couldn't pretend as such. Not to mention that he didn't trust Longbottom.

"Just to make certain, I Obliviated him and changed the wards to redirect him should he ever approach this part of the grounds again."

Snape was startled. Minerva's opposition to the use of that spell was well known. "You did that to him?"

She shrugged. "He's not a bad teacher and he's really quite brilliant with the greenhouses. Unfortunately, he tends to let his emotions rule him, which makes him untrustworthy. On the other hand, you are a friend, well worthy of my trust. Besides, I have no intention of losing your company."

He had to push. "The boy was right, you know."

She nodded. "Yes, he was. But so were you. And we owe you much, Severus, for what you did." She stood, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "Hagrid said to leave the garden as is. He's already begun working on it."

Snape accompanied her outside. By the scant moonlight, he could see that his garden was not as pretty as it had been that very morning. But, somehow, Hagrid had found enough of the young shoots to replant. They didn't look all that enthusiastic about the prospect. They sagged or hung sideways, not the sun-seeking uprights they had earlier been.

"He worked hard to save all that he could."

Snape walked down to his garden, knelt by its edge and gently straightened one of what had been a thriving tomato plant. It lingered in position a moment before drooping.

Minerva left him alone.

Hagrid found him still there the next morning, sitting tailor fashion, chin on chest, sound asleep.

"Sev'rus?"

He nearly snapped his neck waking. He blinked and looked around, feeling the ache in his back and the lack of sensation in his arse and legs. He let himself fall back on the grass and rubbed his eyes as he tried to unfold his legs without hitting any of the plants.

Hagrid grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him back far enough so that he could.

Snape rasped, "Thank you, Hagrid." He had to cough a few times to clear his throat. "And thank you for what you've tried to do with the garden." He propped himself up on his elbows. "I suppose the best thing will be to dig it under and just forget about it."

Hagrid dropped a pile of thin sticks onto his chest. "No more harm done than if a really bad storm had hit. We'll stake the shoots an' start new seeds ter fill in. The harvest may not be as good as yeh'd planned but it's a first-year garden and the earth needs ter sense its new workin's."

So they did as Hagrid suggested. Some of the shoots recovered and grew strong. Others withered and were tossed onto the compose pile. Minerva insisted on providing some Quick-Grow to help the new seeds on their way. "You know very well that your grandmother would have used this had it been available to her. Besides, you've proven that you can start a garden from seed. Next year, you can do so again."

Until the seeds had caught up, Hagrid insisted that Snape work with the thestrals, especially with the pregnant females, who were even more snappish than usual. The day that they replanted his garden, two of the foals decided to be born. Snape rested his arms on the upper rail, dropped his chin onto them and watched as two newly-born fillies found their legs and their dam's tits.

Hagrid sighed happily. "New life. 'Tis a wondrous thing."

Snape nodded. "That it is." He turned, still leaning against the fence, and glanced at the strong features of the man slouching next to him. "Thank you, Hagrid."

Hagrid moved his eyes from the nursing foals to Snape. "Whatever fer?"

"For giving me new life."

Hagrid snorted. "Not me. 'Twas Minerva McGonagall who did that."

Snape straightened. "No, all she provided was the opportunity. You were the one who refused to let me cocoon myself in bed. Who showed me there were things to do other than walking a tightrope of deception. Who let me flounder and find my legs in the garden. Who knew what working the earth would do for me."

Hagrid blushed a little. He shrugged as he propped his elbows on the top railing and began, non-chalantly, to remove the dirt under his nails with the nails of his other hand.

"But most of all, thank you for being a friend. I haven't had many of those in my life, and you are all the more precious to me for it."

Hagrid looked both pleased and embarrassed. He swallowed hard.

Snape took pity on him. This was new to him. Not the awareness of someone's emotions. Merlin knew, he'd had to read those with both Dumbledore and Voldemort and their followers. But this awareness that he did not want to use those emotions against their bearer.

"I found a case of apple brandy in one of the store rooms. At least one bottle has proven to be drinkable. Will you join me on my stoop for a nip?"

After a last look to make sure the foals were all right for the night, Hagrid and Snape strolled amiably back to Snape's hut and some hundred-year-old apple brandy.

"I think," said Snape, "we should order some of those orange cauliflowers for next year. Just to see."


End file.
